Babe in the Box

Image Credit: iStock

Last week, I attended the funeral of a woman who was like a grandmother to me.  I knew her throughout my teen years, and our worlds drifted apart after I got married and moved away.  It seems at funerals, you come to know a great deal more about people.

It was no secret that she LOVED to throw parties.  She loved good food, good style, and to drive fast.  It’s hilarious to me that her name struck fear in the heart of anyone crossing a road in her neighborhood (“better look twice, make sure old Mrs. Lott isn’t coming…”).

I got there just as the reception was ending, and the funeral was about to begin.  One of her daughters arrived about the same time I did, and asked “Where’s my mom?”  The funeral director grinned and pointed into the room  “She’s the babe in the box.”

They ushered the family into the room to have the family prayer before the funeral commenced.  Once the doors were closed, the family sort of assumed a half-moon formation around the casket… maintaining a distance of about ten feet, almost as if they were afraid that death might be catching.

“Is there anyone who would like to go up and say a few last words?”  the funeral director asked.  One by one, about a half dozen family members went up to the casket, whispered a few things, patted her hands or kissed her on the forehead.  The director then got a quirky smile, walked around to the “feet” end of the casket, and asked “Who wants to see the slippers?”

He popped the lid on the lower section, and everyone moved forward, getting a chuckle out of the pink sequined slippers she had on her feet.  The lady had class, choosing comfort and pizazz over decorum, even in her last wardrobe.  Her son-in-law leans over to me  “The slippers were the only thing she wanted to wear” he chuckled.  I don’t think I really needed to hear that.

After long… sometimes drawn-out, but often touching eulogies by her children, the funeral ended, and the procession  made its way to the gravesite at the adjacent cemetery.  As soon as the family limousine turned onto a straight stretch of road running through the cemetery, the driver hit the gas, and got up to about 40mph on the single-lane road, stopping just before reaching the grave.  He laughed, and said “THAT was for your mother.”

A funeral is a day for contemplation; for reflecting on the life of the departed, and how they touched yours… for reflecting on the legacy they left, through a lifetime of words and actions.  It’s a time for self-reflection too, knowing that one day each of us will be in a similar position… where people will share their memories of us, and reflect on our lives.

How do we want to be remembered?

It’s a good question to ask ourselves every day, and then we should live our lives in such a way that we will have no regrets when that day comes.